


Here Inside the Stars

by Chash



Series: Just As You Are [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy finally meets his girlfriend's mother. He's like seventy-five percent good with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Inside the Stars

"Do I really have to wear a tie?" Bellamy asks, checking his reflection in the mirror for about the tenth time. He's wearing the suit he bought for Octavia's custody hearing, and he feels almost as nervous about this stupid dinner as he did about that.

"No, you don't," says Clarke, rolling her eyes and coming over to help. She looks effortlessly beautiful and mature in a red dress, and he'd hate her, but it's not her fault. "You've asked like fifteen times and every time I say, _no, you don't have to wear a tie_ and you're like, _but I really should_ and put it back on." She positions herself next to him and surveys they pair of them in the mirror critically, frowning in thought. "Okay, I think either the tie or the suit jacket, but not both. Both looks like you're going to court."

"This is what I wore to court," he admits, and she grins and kisses him on the cheek.

"Lose the jacket, and maybe--how long do we have?"

"Forever." It is possible he's not excited about this. He's looking forward to it being over, but it feels like that will never happen. He'll die at dinner with Clarke's mom.

She roots through his closet. "I think this shirt, maybe?" she says, pulling out a pale blue button-down instead of the white one. "It still goes with the tie, but it's a little less stuffy. You want to make a good impression, not sell her car insurance."

"Maybe I want to do both," he grumbles, without heat. He slides the tie off and unbuttons the shirt, switching it for the one Clarke suggested.

"Bell," she says, gentle. "You don't have to stress about this."

"Your mother is buying us a fancy dinner," he says. "I do have to stress about this."

"She's just getting us a fancy dinner because she's staying in the only fancy hotel in town and she's taking us to their restaurant. It's not--" She sighs. "She doesn't mean it to be a bigger deal than just her getting to meet you and thank you for having her for Thanksgiving."

"And yet you're helping me dress up."

"It's a big deal to you," Clarke says, shrugging. "And I know you don't want to feel out of place, so, yeah, I'm helping." She knots his tie around his neck with quick, efficient hands, and then beams. "You look great, seriously."

"I love you," he says, with some amount of awe. He gets that this is her life, that she's used to it, but it's still overwhelming for him, and he's unspeakably glad she's here to tell him how to interact.

"Of course you do," she says, and pecks him on the mouth. "You're coming to have an awkward, fancy dinner with my mom. There's no way you'd do that if you didn't love me."

*

Bellamy has interacted with Senator Abigail Griffin a few times now. There was the first time, of course, when she told him he shouldn't date her daughter, and he completely ignored her and went over to immediately ask her daughter out instead, which wasn't the most auspicious start, as he knew it wouldn't be. They usually wish each other a merry Christmas when he's on the phone with Clarke over winter break, and she called to congratulate him when he graduated, which was terrifying and probably took a couple years off his life. She even sent a card. Clarke claims she was trying to be nice; Bellamy's sure she knew it would unnerve him.

And he keeps up with her career, mostly so he won't look like an idiot if she calls him up out of the blue to discuss politics and/or try to intimidate him. He pretty much agrees with her social politics--she's in support of LGBT and women's rights, isn't an asshole about immigrants, and wants to raise the minimum wage--although she has a lot of the rich-person blind spots he expects from politicians, and she leans more to the center than he really likes in his democrats. 

At the same time, it could be so much worse. Abby Griffin is about the best he could have hoped for, as politicians go. Clarke's mom could be some republican who thinks single mothers should die, and then he'd never be able to talk to her without a lot of alcohol and liberal use of the word _fuck_.

They arrive ten minutes early, but her mom is _still_ there first. Clarke took his hand as soon as they got out of the car, and she gives it a squeeze now, like she's trying to say _you're not fucking this up_ without opening her mouth.

He squeezes back.

Senator Griffin at least looks sincerely happy to see them, pulling Clarke into a hug and then offering her hand to Bellamy.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she says, voice warm and apparently genuine. Not that she can't fake that. She is a politician. "Although Clarke's told me so much, I feel like I already know you."

"Yeah, likewise," he says. "It's really nice to meet you, Senator."

"Abby, please."

Bellamy's eyes flick to Clarke, but she looks _happy_ , not stressed at all, and he realizes with an uncomfortable lurch that this is probably something she's actually excited about. She and her mother have a complicated relationship, but Clarke adores her, and adores him, and this dinner is two of her favorite people finally meeting.

He needs to be cool about this. It's not an interrogation. It's a good thing.

"Then, nice to meet you, Abby. We're really glad you could make it up. My sister is helping cook dinner for the first time this year, so--it's either going to go really well or really badly."

"I'm looking forward to it. I haven't had a traditional Thanksgiving dinner in a while, and Clarke says you're an excellent cook."

He's surprised enough to forget himself. "You do?" he asks, looking at her.

Clarke laughs and rolls her eyes at him. "You are, so, yes."

The hostess comes over and takes them to their table. Fancy dining isn't really much of a thing in Williamstown, but The Orchards is about as nice as it gets, and Bellamy feels fairly out of place there. He's lived here his entire life, and he's never set foot in the place.

"Where's your sister tonight?" Abby asks, once they're seated. "I told Clarke she was welcome to join us, but Clarke said she was busy."

"She has a presentation for English tomorrow." He can't help a grin. "The day before Thanksgiving break. She's, uh--not happy about it. But it's a group thing, so she and her partner are putting on finishing touches. We're picking her up on the way home. She said she's looking forward to meeting you, though."

Clarke is still holding his hand under the table, and she gives him another squeeze, reassuring. He's not convinced he needs it, but he appreciates it all the same. Meeting parents is basically uncharted territory for him--his few girlfriends in high school were people he'd known his whole life, with parents he'd already met, and Clarke's the only person he's seriously dated since his mother died--and he needs all the support he can get.

"She's fifteen, yes? A sophomore?"

"Yeah." He scrambles for something else interesting or relevant to say--Octavia should be one of his safer subjects of conversation, so if he's feeling this awkward now it's just going to get worse--but Clarke bails him out.

"How's DC?"

Abby rolls her eyes, amused. "The same as ever. Your least favorite place."

"That's not fair. New Jersey is also pretty bad."

Bellamy snorts. "Don't pick on New Jersey. That's like kicking someone when they're down. It already has to be New Jersey, that's punishment enough."

He says it without thinking, and Clarke's delighted grin shows that she knows it. Forgetting to be nervous is kind of awesome.

Abby's smiling too, faintly. "I won't bore you with politics. I'm taking my first real vacation in years, the last thing I want to do is talk about work."

"How long's it been?" Bellamy can't help asking. He knows Clarke's dad died six years ago, and that's when her mother threw herself into her work, but he'd sort of hoped she took some time off when Clarke was around, at least.

"Let's not think about that," Clarke says, but she sounds cheerful. "It's depressing for everyone."

"Clarke always thinks my life is depressing," says Abby, smiling herself. "We can talk about someone else's work instead. Clarke says you're at the admissions office, Bellamy?"

"Yeah. I did work study there when I was a student, so they hired me on once I graduated."

She nods. "Do you like it?"

"It's fine, yeah. It's, uh--" He bites his lip. Talking about his ambitions with her feels like a minefield, like any question could lead to, _and this is what you want for my daughter?_ , but he can't really avoid that forever. "It's not exactly my dream job, but I like my coworkers and the pay's good. And it's kind of cool seeing everyone's admissions stuff. Some people really go all-out. Someone sent a marble bust they'd hand-carved last year."

"What is your dream job?" Abby asks. Her voice is mild, but it still raises Bellamy's hackles a little, and Clarke shoots her mother a look.

"I'd like to teach," he says, easy. "I haven't decided at what level yet, maybe high school. Once I've got Octavia taken care of, I'll probably go to graduate school to get a masters and a teaching certificate."

"He's surprisingly good with kids," Clarke says, and grins at him. He can't help grinning back.

"You're so supportive."

"Given you're terrible with everyone else--"

" _So_ supportive."

Abby's smiling again, and Bellamy smiles back at her, tentative, letting his fondness for Clarke shine through. If nothing else, he loves her daughter stupid, ridiculous amounts. That should count for something.

"I'm sure you'd make a very good teacher, Bellamy," she says, and he shrugs one shoulder.

"We'll see."

Dinner isn't that expensive, relative to how much he knows fancy dinners can be, but it would still screw up his budget for a week or two if he had to pay for it. He offers to anyway, of course, but he doesn't fight very hard when Abby insists it's her treat.

Clarke squeezes his hand again and excuses herself to go to the bathroom. He's pretty sure it's a tactical decision.

Abby considers him across the table, calculating, all her good humor gone in an instant. He'd been pretty sure some of her friendliness had been bullshit, but now he thinks it might have _all_ been bullshit.

She's totally going to be president someday.

"You're still planning to let her live with you after graduation?" Abby asks.

"I'm not going to kick her out," he says, relaxing. Hostility is a lot easier to deal with than fake-interest. He's used to people not liking him.

"You could encourage her to pursue other opportunities."

"Yeah," he says. "How's that working out for you?"

Abby lets out a surprised laugh. "Not well," she admits, leaning back in her chair. "But I doubt you're trying very hard."

"It's almost like I love her and want her around."

"I love her too. I only want what's best for her."

"So do I." He wets his lips. "I think I'm best for her," he admits. It feels like something almost painful, to be so--to take so much credit. To give himself so much. But he _is_ good for her. Most of the time it's hard to remember, because he gets a girlfriend and someone to help take care of Octavia and pick up groceries when he's busy out of this relationship, and all she gets is him. But he makes her dinner and makes sure she gets enough sleep and helps her study for tests and _loves her_.

He's good for Clarke. He is. He doesn't always manage to believe he's _best_ for her, but he's not going to tell Abby that.

She's looking at him steadily, not saying anything, a look he recognizes from Clarke, so he says, "Look, I'm pretty sure the end goal of all this stuff? Med school and internships and jobs and everything else you want her to do is for her to be happy and thriving. And I know I make her happy." He pauses and adds, "And I know med school wasn't going to."

"I did get the impression you were against med school," says Abby. But she sounds more amused than irritated.

He shrugs. "I was against med school before we even started dating. She loves doing art."

Abby sighs. "I know." She considers him again. "I was expecting more groveling."

"Clarke makes up her own mind," he says. "All the time. And there's no way I'm going to be upset she decided she wants to stay with me. She can live here as long as she wants to. If you don't like that, you're not going to like me. And if only one of you is going to like me, I really want it to be her."

Abby smiles and finishes her wine. "So, how much longer do you think she's going to be in the bathroom?" 

He lets out a snort. "However long she thinks it'll take for one of us to kill the other."

"I am happy for the two of you," Abby says. "She seems very fond of you."

"Yeah, that's what she tells me."

They're talking about books when Clarke finally gets back, and Bellamy can't help needling her.

"Did you get lost?"

"Octavia called me," she says, unrepentant. "She thought you would be too stressed to talk to her. She's ready for pickup whenever."

"Do you have class tomorrow?" Abby asks Clarke. Clarke shakes her head, and her mother smiles. "I could give you a ride home, if you don't mind. We haven't gotten a chance to talk in a while."

Clarke glances at Bellamy, and he shrugs. "I think I can get Octavia without help," he says. "Up to you."

She pecks him on the cheek. "Then that would be nice, yeah. I'll see you in a few hours."

"Don't count on it, some of us still have work in the morning. Just don't wake me up."

"No promises."

"It was nice to meet you, Abby," he adds, giving her a smile. "We'll see you on Thursday?"

"Yes, I'm looking forward to it. Nice to meet you, Bellamy."

*

Octavia greets him with, "So, does she hate you?"

"Honestly? I have no idea." His sister snickers, and he gives her head a light shove. "Shut up."

"Is she stealing Clarke?"

"Supposedly they're just catching up, but the thought did cross my mind. They could get to the airport and be out of the country before we knew they were gone."

"Is she scary?"

He considers. "Kind of. I think she's mostly--she's in over her head. From what Clarke's said, her dad had most of the parental instincts. I think her mom just has a checklist of things Clarke is supposed to do to be a successful adult and I'm fucking it up."

"Clarke's fucking it up, not you," says Octavia, fierce, and Bellamy grins at her.

"It's easier for her mom to blame me. I'm not mad about it. She asked me why I wasn't letting Clarke go for her own good, which I think means she's basically giving up on telling Clarke to dump me. So in another year she will have resigned herself to Clarke's horrible, small-town life, and a couple years after that she might be able to like me."

Octavia rolls her eyes. "You're not cute, you know that, right?"

"That was like 90% serious," he protests. "I honestly think she's okay with me." The statement is as much of a surprise to him as it is to Octavia, and he takes a minute to recover before he says, "Really! I think she liked that I wasn't scared of her."

"You totally were."

"Not once she dropped the nice act. When she's being honest, she's not bad."

"Good job with your future mother-in-law."

"As always, your obsession with me and Clarke getting married is weird."

"I just want you to be happy," she says, cheerful, and Bellamy shoves her again.

"Weirdo."

He's in bed reading when Clarke gets home, and she flops down next to him without even getting out of her stupidly fancy dress.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Beat me to it. I was going to ask you."

"You snooze, you lose," he says, and grins when she sticks her tongue out. "Seriously, how'd it go?"

"It was nice," she says, tucking herself into his side. "We haven't gotten to just hang out with no one working for years. I think we're going out tomorrow too. I'm showing her the sights."

"What sights?"

"Museums, probably. Don't trash-talk your hometown," she adds, poking him. "There's plenty of cool stuff. How'd it go with you guys?"

"She wants me to kick you out so you can live a better life."

"And?"

"She totally convinced me, we're breaking up and you're not allowed to live here anymore. Effective immediately. Good thing she's here to help you move."

"Dick." She leans against his shoulder, closing her eyes. "She said you think you're what's best for me."

"I do. Most of the time."

"Good. I do too."

*

Clarke sends a lot of selfies of herself and her mother at various museums on Tuesday, and Bellamy keeps texting back to remind her he's at work and has important adult responsibilities. He undermines it by sending a follow-up selfie of the abandoned office, and then a video of himself spinning around in his chair. Everyone else has already left for vacation and no one cares at all what he's doing.

He's planning to spend Wednesday on nothing but food preparation and stress, but Clarke tells him they're climbing Mount Greylock instead.

"It's fucking November," he grumbles. "Everything is gray and dead and cold."

"You should be a poet."

Octavia flatly refuses to go and then locks her door, like she's afraid someone will try to force her, so it's just him and Clarke and Abby. It really is the absolute worst time of year for hiking, all the trees bare and the woods a sort of uniform grayish brown that makes Bellamy think of porridge, but the view from the top of the mountain is still breathtaking, and it's kind of nice to get out of the house for some fresh air.

"What time should I come over tomorrow? Do I need to bring anything?" Abby asks when they separate at the bottom of the mountain.

"I think we're all set," he says. "We're doing a last grocery run on our way back. You're welcome whenever you'd like, we usually watch the parade and the dog show, so--yeah. Whenever."

"Wear pajamas," Clarke says, and Bellamy feels himself flush.

"You don't have to," he says.

"You do. Family tradition. Pajamas for Thanksgiving."

"Does she even _have_ pajamas?" Bellamy asks in the car.

Clarke gives him an amused look. "What do you think she sleeps in?"

"I dunno, informal pantsuit?"

"That's not a thing."

He rubs the back of his neck. "She's not going to think it's dumb?" As traditions go, he likes it, but--it feels like something for kids. Not something to tell his girlfriend's mother whom he wants to like him.

Clarke smiles. "I thought you weren't worried about her."

"It comes and goes."

"Well, this isn't something to worry about. It's cute. And it's our tradition, so it's her tradition. We don't have much for Thanksgiving in my family, so it's nice." She smiles. "Stop worrying."

He doesn't, of course. He mostly stops worrying about the pajama thing, but there's still food to make and his shitty house for her to judge. The morning is dedicated to him cleaning while Octavia and Clarke watch with confusion and vague horror, and once that's done he gets started cooking. 

"Is he going to survive?" Octavia asks Clarke in a stage whisper. 

"I told her he's a good cook, so now he feels self-conscious," says Clarke.

"That is not it," he protests, but Clarke knows. She _always_ knows.

Abby shows up at two with a store-bought pie. Her pajamas are one of those matched sets with a button-up shirt, but she's trying. It's not a pantsuit, anyway.

Octavia's apparently decided to be helpful; she takes Abby under her wing and gets her to help with her side of the cooking, leaving Clarke to assist Bellamy. It's--domestic. Even with Abby there. Comfortable.

They could probably do this on a yearly basis. It seems doable.

The food is delicious, everyone showers praise on him, and after he does the dishes while the rest of them play fucking _board games_ , which is so wholesome it makes him feel vaguely queasy. It can't be this easy, right? One awkward dinner, one hike, and one holiday, and Abby has accepted him as a part of her daughter's life? She _should_ , because it's Clarke's decision, and trying to change Clarke's mind is--it's not impossible, but it requires a lot better arguments than her mother has.

Bellamy sometimes wonders in an absent, horrible way, if he could do it. She wouldn't let him get away with breaking up with her for her own good, but he wonders if there's an argument he could make to convince her to leave him.

But it's not his call anyway. And if it were, he'd want her to stay.

Clarke presses her shoulder against his by the sink. "We will help with dishes, you know."

"You should hang out with your mom. She's leaving soon."

"The dishes will keep. Come play Scrabble. Octavia says you love Scrabble."

"I do love Scrabble."

Clarke smiles. "You okay?"

"Yeah." And then, when she looks dubious, he adds, "It comes and goes."

"She likes you. Really, she does. And--she has accepted that I'm going to make my own choices, and my current first choice is prioritizing you over getting the absolute best job ever." She pauses. "I thought you had too."

"I don't know if you get what you're giving up," he blurts out. Which--honestly it doesn't even make sense, because it has absolutely nothing to do with her mom. He's just an idiot. Generally. About this entire thing. At least Clarke's used to it. "Not--" He scrubs his face, even though his hand is fucking gross from dishes. "Fuck, I feel like _I_ still don't know. I knew I was going to be taking care of my sister for a while. But I didn't really understand. You're my entire social life, Clarke. And there aren't a lot of people to meet out here. I'm awesome, don't get me wrong, and you should definitely marry me. But it'd be cool if you had other friends."

She's regarding him with the steady, thoughtful gaze that's his favorite thing, the look that means she gets what he's saying and she's really considering it, that whatever she says next is going to be real and honest and serious. It's how she looked at him when he said he loved her for the first time, before she grinned and kissed him and said she loved him too. Of course it's his favorite.

She kisses him now too, softer. "Here's what I don't get," she says. "With you and my mom, by the way."

"Thanks for lumping us together."

"What's the doomsday scenario here?"

"You resent me," he says, instantly, and her expression clears in understanding.

"That makes more sense than hers."

"It would suck if you left for a couple years, but it would suck a lot more if you stayed and decided I ruined your life." He bites his lip. "I know that's not--it's your call, I just--"

"I get it," she says. She leans her head against his shoulder. "At some point, you're just going to need to accept that I'm picking you."

"I'm trying to," he says. He kisses her hair. "I just figured you had better taste than--"

She laughs and shoves him gently. "So, we're done with serious conversation time?"

"I'm trying not to worry about it," he says. "Really."

"It comes and goes," Clarke says. "I know what your life looks like, Bellamy."

"I know."

She smiles. "It's not, you know--what you were planning on. I get that. But it's pretty good, right?"

He ducks his head to kiss her again. "It's not bad, yeah."

"So let's play Scrabble."

He lets her take his hand and pull him into the living room, but he doesn't let her win. There are lines.

*

The four of them get lunch before Abby leaves for the airport on Friday; Octavia grumbles about it a bit, but Bellamy's pretty sure it's just an excuse to finally say, "I guess she is kind of my mother-in-law," grudgingly, in an attempt to freak him out.

"That's if you marry Clarke," he says.

"Which I totally will, if you don't lock her down soon."

"That is how it works," Clarke agrees. "I'm going to marry a Blake, one way or another. I'm not picky about which."

"Luckily I'm your legal guardian, so I can veto that."

"Our love won't be denied, Bell!" Octavia protests, and Clarke just grins.

It really isn't bad, his life.

After lunch, Abby hugs both him and Octavia as well as Clarke, which is--honestly, just really weird. And then she says, "I know the two of you probably don't get to travel much, but if you'd like to come to California for Christmas, I'd be happy to cover your airfare."

Bellamy freezes, full-on deer-in-headlights freezes, and Octavia has to elbow him before he recovers. "I, uh--thanks," he says. "I don't really know what our schedules look like, but we'll see."

"Good. I hope you can make it." She gives Clarke another hug and a kiss on the cheek, says, "It was good to see you, sweetie," and then she's gone, leaving Bellamy feeling unsettled in her wake.

"She liked you," Clarke tells him, leaning against him.

"She invited us for Christmas."

"You should come. You know how bored I am at Christmas."

"Plane tickets are _expensive_."

"It turns out they pay senators a lot."

He slings his arm around Octavia. "What do you think, O? Want to go to California for Christmas and watch our future mother-in-law scare the shit out of me for a week?"

"You can pretend you're not pumped about this, but you're not fooling anyone," she says, dodging out from under him. "Your girlfriend's mom likes you and you're super happy."

He glances at Clarke, who shrugs. "Don't look at me. My mom likes you. I'm super happy."

"I'm just saying, joint holidays are some married shit," he finally says.

"The most married shit," Clarke agrees, straight-faced, and Bellamy just snorts and shakes his head.

"I don't even know why I like you," he says.

"It comes and goes," she says, and he groans, rolls his eyes, and hooks his arm around her neck. She doesn't duck out from under him like Octavia did, so he just leaves it there as they walk back to the car, keeping her snug by his side.

Right where he wants her.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if you're from New Jersey. I was born there, so it's at least home-grown shit-talking.


End file.
